


Daring to Dream

by ChocoChipBiscuit



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Butch/Femme, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Fallout Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 12:11:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoChipBiscuit/pseuds/ChocoChipBiscuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reilly's Rangers help Big Town prepare for the Legion's invasion, and Brick and Kimba form an unexpected connection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to Big Town!

Kimba is cleaning her hunting rifle, breathing the clean tang of gun oil and powder residue. Her survival could well depend on this rifle, even though it seems hard to imagine that a force known as 'the Legion' is coming to Big Town. Still, there are plenty of other monsters-- giant ants, Super Mutants, Raiders, slavers....

She could not have thought there would be anything harsher than those, but she trusts the Wanderer. Even though she is not close with her, not like Red who had been _personally_ rescued by her, or Timebomb whose life was literally in her hands while lying in the clinic... well, she's heard the broadcasts. She went to the class, where Jinx (such an odd, bad-luck name for such a strong woman; perhaps that was why Timebomb gave her his lucky 8-ball?) taught them all how to use their firearms. And who can miss Three Dog's howling tributes over the radio? Kimba is confident that the Wanderer believes the Legion is coming.

But is it really?

It is hard to imagine a large, organized force-- larger than the slavers of Paradise Falls, supposedly even larger than the Brotherhood of Steel-- trying to annex this portion of the Wasteland, and a small part of her wonders if it would even be so bad to trade a little bit of freedom for security...

But Red believes so, and Jinx claims they will not be 'citizens' in this new Empire, but slaves. And Fawkes, the well-spoken Super Mutant, claims that being a woman in Legion territories would be even worse than a slave.

With a sigh, Kimba tries to lay her thoughts in order, like bullets in a chamber. Some of the evacuees from the western regions have already come through, but are holing up past Megaton. A woman with a Nuka obsession and her boyfriend already came through, though the woman had left a fairly handy Nuka grenade recipe. Seems like a waste of a perfectly good drink to Kimba, but if worse comes to worst, she'd rather toss the cola and stay alive than be perfectly refreshed and dead.

The boys and girls of Little Lamplight have also come through, led by MacCready. How the Wanderer ever managed to convince them to leave the tunnels remains a mystery to Kimba, but she remembers RJ MacCready as being a smart kid. Jinx must have convinced him that the children would be safer if they left their home... not that all of them evacuated. Some of the scav team went back afterwards, intending to use Little Lamplight as a possible base of operations. Kimba wishes them luck; even after being banished, it hurts to imagine the caves being overrun by outsiders.

Then again... an incoming army might well overlook the caves. Big Town is not going to be so easy to overlook.

Setting aside the cleaning rags, Kimba carefully picks her gun up. The reinforcements are supposed to arrive today, and she plans help Dusty watch for their arrival. Flash has his normal, big-mouthed swagger, jawing off about how he's certain that these reinforcements are 'just here to nanny us, but we been fightin' off them muties on our own for ages now!' Kimba privately reflects how 'ages' has been so short; _she_ at least won't be sneering at any offered aid.

Pappy is pessimistic, wondering how even a handful of people will make a difference if the Legion is so tough. Bittercup is writing more crappy poetry about death and night and how dying will bring her closer to it all. Red is... Red, trying to hold everyone together as always.

Kimba is hopeful.

"Watch the Wastes. Keep track of movement..." Dusty chants softly under his breath, like a prayer, like a talisman against evil. Not that it always works, but at least it keeps him from falling asleep during his guard shift.

"Hush now. You're distracting me," Kimba says, squinting her eyes against the haze. Raising one hand to shield her eyes, she sees four humanoid shapes in the distance, in dull green armor that nearly blends into the haze. A white logo on the armor; four leaves, some kind of clover? She blinks, then rubs her eyes to make sure.

Beside her, Dusty's jaw drops open as he reaches the same conclusion. "Oh shit, it's Reilly's Rangers!"

Kimba purses her lips, letting out a high, shrill whistle, and starts flailing one hand over her head.

"Hey! Hey! Over here!" she hollers, trying to let them know that they are seen and most entirely welcome. One of them-- a broad figure toting a multi-barrel machine gun-- whistles back in greeting, pumping its fist in the air.

"How'd the Wanderer get 'em to come out and help? They're good, but they're not free!" Dusty whispers in shock, eyes wide as if an Old World Christmas and birthday party got all rolled in one.

"She's the _Lone Wanderer_ , guys! If she could take out the Enclave, you think the Rangers are going to say no to her?!" comes Red's warm voice, now shrill with excitement. "Plus, I think Three Dog said she did some sort of favor for them, so they owe her! Us! They're going to help us!"

The medic sounds almost delirious with joy, eyes shining bright. Not for the first time, Kimba wishes things had gone better between them.... but that would have required something to have been there in the first place. Unless Kimba wanted to start dating Bittercup (ugh, and wasn't _that_ an idea), there are simply no eligible ladies in Big Town.

If the Legion is coming though, having a love life will be the least of her worries.

Reilly's Rangers come closer-- now there is definitely no mistaking that insignia-- led by a woman with tawny blonde hair who must be Reilly. Behind her follows a dark-skinned man with a military cut, a somewhat sallow fellow with severe eyebrows, and last of all, the muscular figure with the mini-gun. Now that they are all a bit closer, Kimba notices that the last person is actually a woman, a grinning, strutting grunt with a cock-of-the-walk swagger and easy smile to outshine Flash's.

Beside her, Dusty mumbles "Close your mouth, or a bloatfly will go in."

Cheeks burning, Kimba quickly complies, hoping that her shock wasn't so evident to the new arrivals.

"Reilly's Rangers, reporting for duty. I understand you need some additional training and defense against the Legion?" says the woman in front, eyes scanning the inhabitants of Big Town.

Red quickly steps forward, beaming happily. "Yes! I understand Jinx sent you?"

"Affirmative. I am Reilly, and these are Butcher, Donovan, and Brick."

'Brick' seems an odd name for the woman; likely a reference to being tough? Surely 'Shorty' and 'Timebomb' are just as confusing to outsiders, Kimba ponders just as Brick cuts in, with a broad, muddy drawl she finds difficult to place.

"And don't forget sweet Eugene, lady-boss. All warmed up and ready to go kill some bad guys."

"...and Eugene, the minigun," Reilly adds, with an almost auditory gritting of her teeth.

Quickly, Red smooths over the lapse by introducing the inhabitants of Big Town. Everyone says ‘hello,’ except for Sticky, who is still nursing a split lip from when Shorty got tired of telling him to shut it.

“We can help you reinforce your defenses, and have been authorized to requisition mines and gear for you all. Are you familiar with firearms?” Reilly asks, brisk and official. All the Rangers stand at quiet attention, all easy grace and familiarity with the weapons at their hips and the gear on their backs. Brick looks slightly bored, lazy eyes flicking over the boys and girls of Big Town. When she catches Bittercup rolling her eyes, she gives the blonde a wink and a grin. Bittercup promptly turns her nose up, feigning ignorance.\

Red nods eagerly, head moving like a Vault-Tec bobblehead. “Yes! Jinx gave us some basic training and weapons, but we can always use more help. We keep our gear in good order, but ammo is always a concern.”

“Understood. We measure our lives in bullets out here.”

The two women are busy making plans, dividing the day and the people according to their needs. Kimba listens in, but makes no suggestions. There doesn’t seem to be anything she can add, though Sticky eagerly jumps in when Riley mentions that a few of the citizens should train to use big guns with Brick.

“Sweet! So we all get miniguns and rocket launchers? I want a Fat Man!”

Kimba could almost slap him, since the stupidity is so palpable.

Brick just grins, teeth bared in a Cheshire cat smile. “I’unno. You might want to work on handling your.. _piss-_ tol ‘afore you start handling a stud like Eugene here.” The innuendo is blatant, subtext becoming overtly textual as she drifts her gaze to Sticky’s pants, flicking her finger from erect to a waggling droopy gesture.

It takes a few beats before Sticky gets the joke, then he turns Nuka-Cola truck red. Brick just guffaws crudely. Donovan groans, slapping her on the back. “Stop harassing the kids, Brick. You’re not that much older than they are.”

“But _years_ of experience rougher than them,” is her affable response. “Come on then, and let’s get this shit sorted.”

First, everyone in Big Town starts working at the practice range, pinging away at assorted rusted tin cans and empty bottles that have been set up in a line. Kimba just pops away and squeezes, using her familiar BB gun. There are better guns available, but she likes the little toy. It’s comfortable, she does not feel guilty about wasting ammo, it has low recoil, and—her stomach flutters to admit this—it makes her _happy_. It feels like a bygone relic of another time, when small things like this could be toys, not weapons.

“You’re pretty good with that little pop-gun,” comes an unexpected voice at her ear, warm breath tickling her hair. Kimba flinches, the shot going wide. Instead of the tin can she was aiming for, she hits a bottle two feet to the right. The shattering glass still echoes nicely.

It’s Brick, still grinning. She gives a low whistle at Kimba’s awry shot and a knowing wink. “It’s a rare talent to still hit something even when your aim is piss-off. Ever think of sniping?”

“N-no.” Kimba hates the way she stutters, tongue tangling around the familiar words like noodles on a fork. “I mean, I can shoot a .32 hunting rifle all right, but a real sniper rifle, with scope and all? For that kind of caps, we could get medicine, stimpaks, all sorts of things for Red’s clinic. Things that will keep our town alive.”

“Survival isn’t just patching up your wounds. It’s hitting the bastards harder, faster, stronger, before they get a chance to put a hole in you.” Brick’s slow drawl is in sharp contrast to her eyes, flickering and watchful like some sort of wasteland predator. Kimba feels naked and exposed, helpless as a baby molerat against a feral dog. Rather than focus on Brick’s awkward presence, she returns her attention to the firing range.

“Well, if the cans rise up and attack us all, you’ll be in swell shape,” Brick snorts, backing up and raising her hands in surrender. “ _I’ll_ hide behind you, don’t get me wrong. But against raiders and greenies? And that’s just the _normal_ scum in these parts. If the Legion comes, the way the Wanderer says they will…”

Kimba grits her teeth, squeezing the trigger punctuate her words. “We.” A tin can falls off the rail, rolling in the dust. “Can’t.” Another bottle chips, the glancing shot sending it spinning. “Afford.” The ricochet of metal on metal, another can twirling in the air. “It.” The last shot goes low, biting into the wood of the railing instead of the intended target. Kimba can barely see, eyes hazy with rage and tears. Why bait her with things she can never have? Why teach her to hope, to dream for more than survival? The fact that each day she is breathing and alive is already such an incredible gift, it feels selfish to ask for more.

Brick is cruel to taunt her with more.

“Geez, Brick. Stop teasing the girl. We have an extra sniper rifle, and Reilly wanted us to give it to one of you. You’re the best shot here, and if you’re interested, we could give you some advanced training,” butts in Butcher, the medic. Kimba blinks away her tears, still glaring at the practice range. If she turns now, they will both see her crying. It’s one thing for Red or Timebomb or Shorty—or anyone of her friends, the people she grew up with and fought with and cried with over so many other things—to see her like this, but not strangers. Brick has already needled under her skin too much.

Insistently, he continues. “You’d get more training with Reilly herself, not this young dipshit. We could train one of your buddies as a spotter, and you could start picking off hostiles before they even know you’re there. We’ll _give_ you whatever you need.”

A gift?

All Kimba’s hopes of her breakdown going unnoticed start crumbling. The last gift of such worth had been Red and Shorty’s lives, with the Lone Wanderer—alone save for her dog—had gone to rescue them all from Super Mutants, then… then she had saved Timebomb, and somehow even found it in her heart to give them all extra pistols, ammo, training, helping fend off the last wave of Super Mutants. Every day has been a gift, every moment a treasure, everything so much more than she had dared to dream…

She’s bawling like a child now, a high wail squeaking past her blubbering lips as she struggles to hold the grief in. She dimly hears Red’s voice, the medic rushing in to try and comfort her, but a different pair of arms enfold her first. Warm, strong arms, smelling faintly of unfamiliar soap and gunpowder, wrapping her up like a precious thing.

“Oh girl, I’m sorry. I’m such a fucking jackass, I didn’t…” That strange drawl, like warm honey and whiskey, still makes Kimba’s skin crawl even though the arms feel so warm.

Kimba is sobbing uncontrollably, feeling her world breaking and being put together again, like a strangely helpful whirlwind attempting to fix what has been irrevocably broken. Shattered glass pieces, coming together—never going to be whole again, never like the lost innocence of Little Lamplight, but maybe something else. A mosaic, a kaleidoscope of broken pieces. A sniper rifle, a way to defend her friends and her beloved hometown. Because yes, even if it started as a miserable collection of shacks and dirt and ill-prepared children, they are growing up, the caravans are coming, and now…

Now, she can get the tools and the means to _kill the assholes who’d try to take it all away_.

So much more than she’d ever dared to dream.

“Brick, just shut up. Kimba, you don’t have to say ‘yes’ unless you’re comfortable, but we have the guns and the ammo, and we want to help,” Butcher chimes in.

“Oh, yes! Yes! A sniper rifle? For me? Oh _yes_!” Kimba screams, the words bubbling up through the tears choking her throat. “Oh yes!”


	2. Cooking and Simmering

Of course, having an expensive new toy does not turn Kimba into a crack shot overnight. Weeks of training with Reilly help, but Kimba is still uncertain. When nervous, her breath comes short and ragged, her crosshairs shivering when she needs them steady. She is better at shooting at still targets, and amazes herself with the distance she can now shoot accurately, but Reilly cautions her that live, moving hostiles are another matter.

And she still cannot train every hour of the day. Evenings and nights are spent building up the town’s fortifications, seeding strategic regions with landmines (and constantly reminding each other where they are buried), and trying to build some sort of rapport between Rangers and Townies.

Red had been the first to suggest it, saying that Big Town works better with its friends. She had raided their limited liquor supply to throw an impromptu party, and Kimba is part of the cooking team. Not that she’s a great chef; it’s just that unlike Timebomb or Bittercup, she remembers to stir the pot so the bottom won’t burn, and won’t try to douse everything in centuries-old pepper sauce like Flash.

They even splurged for Brahmin steak, but currently she is chopping the cheaper and far more plentiful molerat meat for spaghetti sauce. Dropping the cubed meat into a pan, she stirs it about until she hears a faint sizzle.

“You cook too? Man, you’re like one of them Prewar pin-ups. Pretty, cooks, and would probably look damn good in a dress and heels,” comes Brick’s unwelcome voice, the warm drawl crawling over Kimba’s skin and raising a hot shiver in her belly.

With a vicious shake of the pan, nearly sending oil flying in the air, Kimba responds. “And I can nail a dog between the eyes before it even smells me.”

“Deadly too. Just the way nature intended,” is Brick’s flip response, seeming impervious to Kimba’s dislike. Then she pauses, wetting her lips. She cracks her knuckles awkwardly, leaning against the counter on her forearms. “I’m also… I’m also real sorry about just being such a shithead before. I just open my mouth sometimes and run on, you know? It… you just seem so quiet all the time, I thought maybe it’d help.”

“It didn’t.” A curt response; Kimba is paying more attention to the minced roots she is adding now, letting the savory vegetables brown in the meat drippings.

“But I… I mean, I’m sorry. You just seem so… different from everyone here.”

“No. We are all Little Lamplighters.” _And I am sure a big, heroic mercenary like you thinks our entire town is dull and boring and nothing at all like all the wonderful places I’m sure you’ve seen_ … goes unspoken.

“Not that, I mean… everyone else is just…” Brick swallows, lifting one hand in the air as if groping for words, shaping strange patterns in the air with the palm of her hand. “It’s like, everyone sees the future bits and pieces at a time. You’re just… doing what you can. You are trying to look forward to the whole shape of it, but holding yourself back because you’re afraid of leaving the bits and pieces that you think you know.”

“Afraid to dream.” The words come out in a quiet whisper, a moment of weakness. As soon as the words pass her lips, Kimba regrets them. But Brick lights up, slapping her fist into the palm of her hand and straightening with excitement.

“Yeah! That’s it! You got the words, you got the looks, you got the _world_ if you want to dream big! There’s so much out in the Wastes, you could head up to Megaton, Rivet City, you could—“

Kimba adds a tin of canned tomato sauce, the red paste pouring out in chunks. “Big Town needs me. I can’t leave.”

“I been asking around. You’re not real… independent yet, are you? I mean, once the trade routes start picking up again, you can be something. Most of your new blood is coming from Little Lamplight, so it’s not like you gotta stick around once you get some replacements. With the guns and the caravans, Big Town is gonna grow. You don’t have to worry about chaining yourself once the town makes it!” Brick’s eyes are wide, pale blue against her sun-darkened skin, and her fervor reminds Kimba of a traveling Child of Atom preacher.

“Why do you care so much?” Kimba challenges, tapping her spoon against the pan.

“’Cuz you deserve more than being shut up in some shitty little town for the rest of your life!”

“ _Big Town is not shitty!_ ”

Their voices are rising, Brick and Kimba moving together to shout. Brick is taller and wider, but Kimba has a long wooden spoon, still covered in red sauce, that she holds up like a knife. Brick looks almost as if she might wrestle it out of Kimba’s hands, but at that point the door swings open, Donovan charging through.

“Dammit, Brick! Will you ever keep a lid on it?” he snaps, placing his hand on the heavy weapons specialist’s shoulder. Brick immediately grabs for his hand, trying to initiate some sort of combat throw, but Donovan was obviously expecting it, instead twisting and snaking his feet behind her legs to trip her.

“Goddamit Donovan! I never interrupt you when you’re trying to score!”

Kimba bursts out laughing, smacking her spoon against the wall uncontrollably. Globs of tomato sauce spatter to the floor unheeded. “Really? _That_ was your attempt to pick me up?”

“I never said it was a _good_ attempt!” Brick shouts, attempting to defend herself from the ground. Donovan is now sitting on her, shaking his head in disgust.

“Look, Brick, let’s just get you out of here. Sorry about interrupting your cooking, Kimba. Smells real good,” he mutters, dragging a protesting Brick out.

With a groan, Kimba closes her eyes. Brick has probably been trying her lines on girls everywhere west of Canterbury Commons, counting on them all being star-struck by the youngest member of the famed Rangers. But it would be too much to dream for more than being a passing fancy, and even if— _if_ , mind you!—she found Brick attractive, with those strong arms and wide smile, she can’t be just a one-night stand, lost and forgotten.

She has bigger dreams than that.


	3. Choices

Another week, and Kimba is sent on her first recon mission with Donovan. Brick, unfortunately, goes along as well. When Kimba protests, Donovan just sighs.

“She’s not my first pick either, but she is tough. We’re trekking out to the old Robco Facility, and that far from the base, we’ll be better off with a third person. I’ll be trying to see what robots we can get up and running to use against the Legion, and will need someone to watch my back. You’re good with distance, but Reilly—and myself—thinks we need her and that roomsweeper just in case.”

“Hey hey!” A raucous whoop interrupts his explanation, and Brick herself jogs over. “Let’s get this party started! And, uh, I’m keeping it in my pants. Right. Real good. Let’s go jack some bots and fight off men in skirts!”

“Ideally, we won’t be running into any hostiles, but who knows?” Donovan gives a fatalistic shrug. “Reilly put me in charge of this little operation, so both of you follow my lead. Brick, don’t be a jackass. Kimba… stay calm. You’re a good shot, and you’ve got us for back-up if anything goes down. Now let’s move.”

It doesn’t feel too different from other patrols Kimba has been on, company aside. They move fast and stay low, careful not to create a clear silhouette against the open sky. Occasionally Donovan stops to remind Kimba that her new rifle’s scope can be used to check out the area, though the limited field of view means a spotter is helpful. Brick is surprisingly good at this, using her sharp eyes to call out interesting landmarks or critters for Kimba to practice getting in her sights. Now that they are on official business, Brick is much less mouthy, showing that yes, the obnoxious grunt does know how to operate with a team.

It is mostly uneventful, other than Brick spotting the wickedly curved tail of a Radscorpion in the distance at one point and asking if Kimba can make the shot. After Donovan grunts approval, the Big Town citizen lowers her rifle, exhaling slowly as she scans for the eyes. Radscorpion shell is so thick that even with a high-powered rifle, a head-shot is her best bet. Squeezing the trigger, she is rewarded with the now-comfortable recoil of the gun, and the proudly waving tail lists to the side, falling with the death of its owner.

Kimba feels a grin stretching her cheeks.

“Nice shot,” Brick exclaims under her breath, pumping one fist enthusiastically. Giddy off her pride, Kimba briefly considers that Brick’s drawl is not as obnoxious as usual. “Hey, Donnie, let’s go bag it. Steam it, and Radscorpion tastes _real_ good…”

“Harvest the poison glands, and you can make a dandy venom for weapons…” the tech expert mutters, impatiently rapping his fingers against his gun. “Fine. But make it quick, Brick.”

Brick needs no second invitation, bounding across the gray Wastes with a loping stride. With her bouncing energy, she nearly skids down a shale embankment, but manages to hop to her other foot and regain balance with a hasty “I’m okay, people!”

Donovan just shakes his head, sighing. But a smile plays across his lips.

“So, how’s Brick been treating you?” he asks quietly.

It takes Kimba a beat to realize he asked her a question. “…alright, I guess. She’s left me alone, at least.”

“Just remember if she hassles you, you don’t have to take it. Brick’s got a mouth and an attitude, and you don’t have to worry about losing the Rangers. If anything, if things work out after all this mess with the Legion… we might be looking for a sharpshooter.”

“You haven’t even seen me in a real fight yet,” Kimba feels obligated to point out, despite the flutters in her stomach. “You don’t know if I’ll be any good.”

“Maybe not, but you are calm. Steady. That’s a good start, at least. And I’d be lying if I said this is all just altruism. I think you would be useful. And the Wanderer… she wants Big Town to do more than just survive. She wants you to thrive.”

“By sending away its people?” Her tone is bitter with accusation, try as she might to hold it back.

“No. You can always return. But Big Town can build a reputation for having smart, capable, useful people… more caravans will visit. More recruiters will come. You can trade, attract skilled people of your own. Maybe build up to an outpost to rival Megaton.” Donovan’s voice is quiet, but with a prophetic edge that Kimba cannot help responding to.

“You would have to ask Red.”

“Why not you?”

Kimba’s eyes narrow, but the glare softens as she realizes there is no disdain in Donovan’s voice. Just quiet curiosity, like she is another machine he is examining, trying to figure out its workings.

“Because I’m not leaving my friends if there’s the slightest worry they might need me.”

“Fair enough,” he admits, raising his voice again as Brick approaches, a sack of fresh meat in one hand and harvested poisoned glands in another bag. “Nice job of lollygagging out there, grunt!”

“The only thing I’m gagging on is your stench!” is the response, followed by a loud raspberry. “Hey, Kimba, think you can work your magic with the scorpion? It’d make some damn fine eats, that’s for sure!”

“Forget scouting. I think you just wanted me along to cook,” Kimba says dryly, shaking her head.

“We~ell…” comes the familiar, insouciant drawl. “That’s just a bonus.”

“Come on, you two. Brick, pack it up. We still want to make it to the factory before dark.”

Donovan pushes the pace to make up for their brief delay. Kimba finds it challenging, but manageable; really, she is amazed at how Brick keeps up. Besides carrying Eugene, she is carrying the bulk of their supplies. It is one thing to see a Paladin in power armor running around like it’s nothing—those suits are supposed to contain advanced hydraulics to add extra ‘oomph,’ after all—but for Brick, gleaming in sweat and only wearing the relatively light armor of the Rangers, it seems almost impossible. But she manages the impossible so easily…

 _‘The difficult, I’ll do right now… the impossible might take a little while…’_ pops into her head, just briefly, and Kimba chases the song out. There’s something more interesting in the distance, anyway.

“Hey, is that the factory? That big tower there?” she asks, shading her eyes with one hand.

“No. That’s Tenpenny Tower,” Donovan explains.

“The Tower? Why aren’t they investigating then?”

“They’re mostly a spoiled bunch of rich people,” Brick butts in, rolling her eyes. “I mean, sure, they got a few washed-up rough riders like Daring Dashwood—“

“He’s still alive?” Kimba asks in surprise, not having realized the adventurer was real to begin with.

“Psht, yeah. But old. And doddery, even if he can still spin a yarn. But they don’t really have anyone who can work tech and robots like Donovan, and they’re busy trying to defend the tower. Some of ‘em just can’t stand the idea of leaving, so they’re trying to build up the defenses. Dicks.”

Donovan interrupts before Brick can truly warm to the subject. “Brick’s right in the essentials. They don’t have the expertise, and we do. The factory’s near the tower though. I’m not expecting too much—the Wanderer already investigated, and got most of the machines up and running, programmed to be friendly to humans. I’m just going to see if there are any nastier bots she missed, and see if I can redo their programming to recognize our friendlies only.”

“Yeah! From what she’s said, the Legion’s real technophobes, so can you imagine a horde of sentry bots rolling over ‘em? Ha! Bet they’d piss themselves!” Brick laughs crudely.

“…if we find any, at least. A few old Mister Handies or janitor units won’t make much of a dent,” Kimba mutters.

“Such an optimist.” Brick gives Kimba a friendly punch in the arm, causing the smaller woman to wince. “Whoops, sorry.”

Kimba gives a pained grimace.

“Knock it off, Brick. We’re coming up on the factory now, so let’s sweep it.” Donovan’s command is curt, and the younger mercenary just groans, stepping in. Kimba awkwardly switches to a small .22 pistol, realizing that her lovely new rifle would be of little use in the confined space. Exploring the building proves uneventful; as promised by the Wanderer, the robots are friendly to humans, and their ‘vermin extermination’ routine has cleared out the various radroaches and molerats that would have been expected to move in.

Donovan just clucks his tongue in annoyance, realizing that most of the robots aren’t really combat-quality. “Worse comes to worst, we can just use ‘em for parts. But let’s see what we find…”

At a loss of what else to do, Kimba just trails behind him and Brick as Donovan inspects the factory floor. While there are no premade Sentry bots waiting for them, he eventually finds enough parts—a dismantled torso shell, an only mildly damaged set of treads, and some sort of generator that Kimba does not comprehend, among other things—to deem it a worthy haul.

“I’m not schlepping that all the way back to Big Town,” Brick says flatly, crossing her muscled arms. “I’m not a pack-brahmin.”

“I’m not expecting you to,” is his snappy retort. “I’ll just radio Reilly that we’ll be a bit longer than expected. Maybe overnight. Just got to get these assembled, and any leftovers we can all help carry back. It’s not as much as I hoped—there might be enough here to make two, maybe three fully functioning bots—but there are at least plenty of parts to help maintain what we have. Hopefully Wollinski’s got more.”

“Who’s Wollinski?” Kimba cannot resist asking.

 “Another friend of the Wanderer’s. He’s from Canterbury Commons and is a damn good mechanic.”

“Also a little—“ Brick pops her tongue out with an audible snap, crossing her eyes. “— _woo_ -hoo, if you get what a mean.”

Not for the first time, Kimba reflects on the many unlikely allies Jinx has collected. ‘Hope’ or ‘Promise’ might have been more accurate a nickname.

“This is going to take me a while. You two get started on lunch, maybe scout the area. Brick, stay in radio contact. Kimba, don’t wander out unless it’s with Brick. Don’t want to lose you out here.”

Sighing, Kimba just nods assent. Brick tags along as she goes to the kitchen, the grunt almost clicking her heels in excitement.

“Say, if the juice is working, think you can cook up that scorpion?”

“Is it your favorite?” Kimba asks, a little taken back by Brick’s constant enthusiasm for the Radscorpion flesh.

“Aw, yeah. I used to go fishing for crawdads with my daddy, and these taste real similar when you cook ‘em.” Smacking her lips, Brick rubs her belly for emphasis.

Intrigued in spite of herself, Kimba pursues this unlikely tidbit. “Crawdads? Small radscorpions?”

“Eh, sort of. Like crawling pinching things that live in the water. Look like bugs, taste delish,” Brick explains, holding the index fingers of both hands approximately hands width apart. “They like the muddy waters. Fishing for ‘em beat watching the Brahmin any day.”

“Your family are Brahmin herders?”

“Yeah. Not a bad life, just… not what I wanted, you know?” The cocky voice softens, going wistful with memory. “I just didn’t want…”

“…to be shut up in some shitty little town for the rest of your life?” Kimba’s dark eyes meet Brick’s, and the bigger woman flushes. “I feel for you. Just… just don’t think _your_ fights are _my_ fights, Brick.”

“Nah, I just… shit, look. I know I put my foot in my mouth, read you all wrong. I guess I was just thinking… getting Eugene just changed the entire course of my life, you dig? He gave me options, choices.” Kimba cannot see Brick’s expressions, since she is busy pouring clean water into a pot and starting to boil it in the tiny employee kitchen. But even without seeing Brick, she can feel the pained rawness in the air. “Choices are everything. It’s one thing to do something if you _want_ to, another if it’s forced on you.”

“Ever think you’d go back to Brahmin herding, then?” Scraping through the packs for the scorpion meat, Kimba does not have to make eye contact with Brick.

“…nah.” Brick can’t help chuckling at that, caught in her own admission.

“Then maybe I actually _want_ the choice you think is being forced on me.” Rummaging through the pantry, Kimba manages to find a small tin of canned pears. Not a lot, but an unexpected treat. Rather than pummel the topic into the ground, she changes the topic. “So where did you get Eugene?”

Judging from Brick’s abrupt silence, Kimba just hit a sore spot. She bites her lip angrily, wondering just why it is she and Brick keep prickling each other in all the wrong ways.

“Eugene was… from someone I cared a lot about. That’s it.” Brick’s voice is hollow, empty from all the normal warmth and cocky good humor. With a ghost of a smile, Brick just shakes her head. “So when are you going to name your gun?”

“Do I need to name my guns?” Kimba asks dubiously, grateful for the new subject.

“Just the important ones. Your best friends. I might shoot a pistol or shotgun now and then, but I don’t name ‘em. They’re like one-night stands. But Eugene… Eugene’s a piece of me. So he gets a name.” Her normal lazy drawl is more hushed, near reverential, with just enough self-awareness to give a mocking up-tilt to her words.

Chewing her lower lip, Kimba adds a pinch of herbs to the boiling water. The fragrant steam fills the small kitchen, and she breathes a little more easily. “So if I decide to name a gun, I’d just be naming my sniper rifle.”

“If you want to. Any good names?”

 _Red_ , but that’s too obvious. Plus, there was no actual relationship there for that to commemorate. Kimba is tempted to ask Brick about ‘Eugene,’ but that would stray dangerously close to the uncomfortable silence of earlier. _Jinx_ would be a lovely tribute to the woman who indirectly made this all possible, but would be embarrassing. Everything else simply feels either too prosaic or just entirely devoid of meaning.

“I’d have to think about it,” she hedges.

“No worries. If you ever figure it out, we can christen the rifle. Get some wine, have a little naming party.”

Kimba allows a small smile on her lips. “That might be fun.”

With that tentative truce, Kimba finishes preparing lunch, aided—however minimally—by Brick, who volunteers to help stir the pot and wash some fresh mutfruit. This small moment of shared domesticity makes her wonder about what Brick said last time, about trying to pick her up. ‘Not a _good_ attempt,’ really? If Brick were less abrasive, and maybe a bit more like she is now… would that be so bad?

Kimba quashes that fledgling thought before it can take off. She has a new sniper rifle and a possible invitation to the Rangers. Those are enough dreams for now.


	4. The Raiding Party

When they bring Donovan his plate, he is deep in the guts of a partially-assembled Sentry Bot, with only his legs dangling out of the body of the machine. With a loud sniff, he squirms out, swearing as he nearly bangs his head against the roof of the metal case.

“Smells good. You cooked, Kimba?” At her nod, he chuckles. “Thanks. Everything Brick makes tastes like Brahmin shit.”

“Just most of it. The rest tastes like socks,” Brick laughs.

“Whatever. Nice to have something better than centuries-old MREs, at least.”

“Just centuries-old tinned pears for dessert,” Kimba shyly admits. “Just thought it’d make a nice addition to the mutfruit.”

“Yeah, it is. Thanks.” Chewing noisily, Donovan stabs a fork towards one of the walls. “Why don’t you two scout westward? I’m getting the rust-buckets up and moving, so it’s not like I’m defenseless here. Just keep an eye out for Raiders or Legion, and see if you can’t snipe a few.”

“You really think we could do that?” the would-be sniper asks, wide-eyed with shock.

“Hell, Brick on her own could take down a squad of Talon company grunts. Bunch of savages with spears, or shitty little Raiders with their beat-up weapons? She could do it on her own. _You_ are extra, a little insurance to keep her from getting her own ass blown off.”

Unsure whether this is meant to soothe or insult her, Kimba just raises an eyebrow.

“Keep an eye on the idiot with the minigun,” Brick adds in a mock whisper. Donovan’s eye roll confirms the translation.

Scouting with Brick—or ‘scouting,’ since Kimba suspects this is just a ploy for Donovan to be left alone—isn’t too different from their previous trip from Big Town to the factory. They travel westward, Kimba keeping her sniper rifle at the ready so she can scan the distance. Eventually, they venture past Tenpenny Tower again, slowly losing the massive monolith behind them. As they pass by one of the many abandoned metro stations, Kimba asks a question.

“Would it be worth it to see if we could scav anything from the underground tunnels?”

Brick chews her lip thoughtfully, then shakes her head with a sigh. “Not really normal Ranger parameters. We take high-value targets, and scavving tends to be a toss-up. Plus, I’d rather keep an eye on the horizon in case any Legion soldiers come by to say hello.”

Cresting another small rise, Kimba squints in the distance. “Hey, I see movement. Stay low.” Raising her scope, she zooms in on the cluster of figures making their way across the gray wastes.

“I count ten bodies. What else?” Brick asks, voice low and ragged as she moves forward, placing herself between Kimba and the oncoming strangers. Not that it’s necessary at this distance; even with Kimba’s sniper rifle, a shot would be difficult. Assuming they had even been spotted.

“They’re wearing… gear I don’t recognize. I haven’t seen any kind of uniform like that before. Looks like… old, Prewar padding. The kind you get from the school locker areas, bulked up to be armor. Brown skirts. Two of them have some sort of feathered headdress, and one is wearing an animal skin on his head. Carrying a red flag, with a… oh geez…” Kimba trails off, starting to blanch.

“Is it a Brahmin?”

“Yeah, but just one head. A bull? Like the flag for…”

“…Legion,” Brick finishes. Rather than going chalky-pale, she narrows her lips. “Too many for just a scouting party, so raiding party, I’m guessing. Let’s take ‘em down.”

“What, just the two of us?” Kimba squeaks.

“Look, it’s as easy as popping that Radscorpion. You could take a few of ‘em down before they even know you’re there. Plus, check their weapons.”

Using the scope again, Kimba starts tallying their weapons. “Most of them have spears, knives. I see shotguns, some hunting rifles…”

“How many of them have guns?”

Biting her lip, Kimba double-checks her tally. “Maybe just half of them.”

“So they’re easy pickings, if we take out the ones with guns first. Plus that armor won’t hold up against either your rifle or Eugene. So I say we take ‘em out,” Brick says decisively. “Don’t let them get close enough to threaten anyone, and don’t let ‘em go home to talk about what they’ve seen so far. I’ll spot for you; take the ones with the headgear first. I bet they’re in charge.”

Kimba is shaking now, hands trembling as she tries to use her new rifle, but the images of the men keep swimming in front of her eyes. Noting her distress, Brick sighs.

“Look, haven’t you fought off muties or slavers before?”

“Yes, but… it was the heat of the moment, you know? Everyone else around, everyone I knew…”

“You just have better weapons now. You’re not a scared little victim anymore, Kimba,” Brick says soothingly, brushing calloused knuckles over Kimba’s cheek in a gesture that feels strangely more intimate than cupping. “Plus, I’m right here. I’ll spot for you, and if you want, I’ll even keep an arm on you. You can _do_ this, Kimba.”

Inhale. Exhale, breathing out slowly through her nostrils. Kimba attempts to regain her composure, biting her lip as she gets herself ready. Brick’s reassuring presence adds a tingle of comfort, a tiny boost that reminds her she’s not alone.

“All right. First target?”

“The one in the headdress. Black feathers.” The command is gentle, warm honey drawl masking the deadly intent of the words. Still fighting to remain calm, Kimba squeezes the trigger.

Too low. The shot went too low. Instead of the pretty little head-shot she was aiming for, the man’s throat explodes in a fountain of red. But he’s still dead, and now his companions are wheeling about frantically, realizing they are under attack.

“Now the other one,” Brick continues.

Strangely, pulling the trigger seems even easier this time around. Kimba adjusts, aiming for the man who is now quickly running around, scanning the environs. For a brief, horrible moment, his face is in their direction, and Kimba imagines he can see her looking at him, see the impending bullet…

She squeezes again.

This time, his head blossoms red, and he falls.

“See, darling? Two down already. Now try for the one holding the standard,” Brick says, readying Eugene. The Legionaries have not yet come this way, but there is a limit to how long until they notice the two women on the hill.

The third man drops. Not as pretty as the second one, since she got him in his upper torso, but she suspects she got the heart or lungs. A froth of crimson foam bubbles from his chest.

“Good. Now, most of the rest look like they just have spears, and… oh shit, they see us now. See if you can squeeze a couple more off before they come into range for Eugene.” Kimba cannot help but think Brick sounds so remarkably _calm_ , as if this sort of thing is just so normal…

Well, maybe it is, for a Ranger. Someone who is used to taking on Talon company mercenaries who are generally much better armed than this Legion squadron. Alarming as it might be for Kimba personally, she wonders if the rest of the Legion are really something to worry about. After all, if a scared little girl from Big Town could take down—she mentally rounds up for the sake of her own ego—half a squad on her own, do the bigger settlements really need to worry?

Her confidence quickly drops, and she thinks _yes, yes they do_ as the surviving members of the little raiding party quickly regroup. Another man, with a red scarf tied over the lower half of his face, gestures towards Brick and Kimba’s position. The men begin a weaving run, shouting obscenities. Brick just bares her teeth, lips curling in a savage grin as she remains squarely between Kimba and the oncoming men. They would literally have to go through the bigger woman to reach the young sniper. Briefly, Kimba thinks she can forgive Brick for all her crudities, all her well-intentioned callous comments, if she could just picture her like this forever, some sort of guardian angel with a buzz-cut.

“I’m covering you, babe. Drop ‘em!” Brick’s exultant shout reinvigorates her, and Kimba reminds herself that if any of these Legionaries make it to Big Town, they’ll slaughter or enslave her friends, any of the new little ones from Lamplight… Somehow, the thought of little Bumble, still several years from being forcibly exiled to Big Town, precocious Bumble with the steady hands and her little bit of medical training pops into her head. No, the Legion would not be kind to Bumble.

So Kimba will not be kind to them.

Her next shot misses, sending a plume of dust far beyond her target, and she almost screams with frustration. Then she flinches, one of the Legion recruits pulling a hunting rifle from his back with one smooth motion, aiming back. Rock and gravel goes flying two feet from her left. They’re in range now.

“When they’re too close for the sniper rifle, switch to pistol!” Brick’s command is a rope tossed to the flailing Kimba, giving her something to hold on to. Something to follow out of this sudden panic.

Mechanically, Kimba fires. A gut wound into the man with the rifle; not a killing blow, but it will be. Eventually. Maybe a bit faster if he keeps running, letting the squishy internal organs bleed into eachother and pour out.

There are just six uninjured men now, since Kimba is unsure how to count the man with the gutshot wound. He is hanging back now, fumbling with his rifle. She shoots him again, since an immobile target is much easier than a running one. He drops the rifle and falls to the ground, clutching his newly injured shoulder.

With a sweet, blessed whine, Eugene opens fire. “Yah, come and get some of this!” shouts Brick, beautiful and bloody as a lioness. One of the Legionaries throws a spear, but the puny piece of wood does not make its target before Eugene mows him down. Cackling gleefully, Brick spits bullets in a sweeping motion, cutting down two more in the time it takes Kimba to blink. Realizing her rifle is of little use, she sets it aside (even despite the soldiers breathing down their necks, she can’t bring herself to simply _drop_ or _toss_ her expensive new toy) and pulls out her pistol.

Another spear (really? A _spear_? This is supposed to be some sort of big bad conquering army and half their soldiers are equipped with _pieces of wood_?) flies up, and Kimba hops to the side, screaming as it grazes her side. The thin fabric of her shirt tears, blood blossoming over the fabric and trickling down her belly in a hot trickle.

“Fucking piece of wood!”

Brick does not even falter, moving to evade another crude projectile as she continues spraying the Legionaries with bullets. “I’m going to teach you how to swear, baby girl! That was pathetic!”

Rather than respond, Kimba takes solace by using her pistol to fire several rounds into the last standing red-garbed soldier.

“I’m just surprise they didn’t have more guns…”

“Maybe the Vault girl didn’t know. If they’re all like this, not much risk of ‘em taking the Capital Wasteland,” Brick grunts, moving to examine the bodies.  “How’s your side?”

“Fine. Got any bandages? I’ll just do a quick wrap, then we can clean it and wash out back at base. I just don’t want to do it out here.”

Brick nods, handing them over. Kimba can make a quick field dressing at least, and tries not to think about any possible venom or infectious, nasty little germs on that dirty piece of wood.

“Kimba, you check the corpses. If there’s any survivors, we can question ‘em. I’m keeping both hands on Eugene here just in case.”

Kimba examines the fresh cadavers with only a little queasiness. It’s no worse than stripping dead raiders for gear, really, and dead people never bothered her much. It is the living, those who struggle and still feel pain and scream and their screams echo behind her ears at night…

There is a reason Red is the medic, and not her.

But there are no nightmares out here in the daylight, and some interesting items to loot. The armor could be useful, and the guns, definitely—she is not so sure about the spears, but they are better than nothing, and if nothing else, they can always be used to construct something else.

Moving down the hill to look at the first men she shot, they discover one of them—the man with the gut wound and the shoulder injury—is still alive, glaring hatefully at them with dark eyes.

“Profligate whores,” he hisses, spitting pink froth. “The Legion… will break you…”

“Such a shame. We already broke you,” is Brick’s sardonic response, clicking her tongue with a wry shake of her head. “Think we could patch him up, bring him in for questioning…?”

The man gives a gurgling laugh, shaking his head. “When the Legion flag covers your wastelands, and the smoke from our fires obliterates your sky, my ghost will haunt you. I will smile over you as the first men crawl over your ruined bodies, breeding you to make more soldiers…”

Kimba can’t save him, nor does she feel any desire to. Pulling out her pistol and aiming it steadily at his head, she just gives Brick a quick glance for approval. At the Ranger’s nod, she pulls the trigger. His laughter ends.

“Well, at least we know there’s more of ‘em out there,” Brick says casually. “Got anything else useful?”

Trawling through the man’s belongings, Kimba finds a few coins of unknown origin—stamped copper and silver pieces, with a man’s profile on them. They don’t look at all like the occasional Prewar coins they find now and then; the edges are too crude and the face is wrong. A pouch of some sort of powder with a bitter smell, some dried rations of dog meat, and in a leather satchel carried by one of the men in feathered headdresses, she finds a folded piece of paper. Unfolding it causes Brick to give a low whistle.

“Oh shit.”

A map—of territories Kimba knows through rumor, and others beyond the Capital Wasteland. A sketch of more Legion controlled territory, a massive area that humbles the little section she knows, and small red marks with notes for troop movements…

The Legion is coming. The Wanderer was right.

The only consolation, however grim, is Brick’s weak “Well, won’t their Caesar be upset that we got ahold of this?”


	5. Yes to Both Questions

At Brick’s insistence, they strip the Legionaries down to their small clothes and hustle back to Donovan. Their only stop is briefly taking shelter down the stairs of the abandoned metro (out of sight of others, mind; not actually in the dank and likely ghoul-infested tunnels) so Brick can swab some antibiotic cream on Kimba’s injury. Her hands aren’t as gentle as Kimba would like—in fact, she bites her lip to keep from screaming as Brick’s rough hands dab _right in the center_ of the cut—but Brick is all business, not bothering to make any jokes or grinning at her. Her hands are thoroughly professional, not attempting to feel her up at all.

Kimba is both relieved and a little disappointed.

She is forced to consider these feelings on the brisk march back to the facility, wondering just what it is that makes Brick seem so much more attractive now. Really, just a week ago and the mercenary was downright _irritating_. So what is it?

Competence, she realizes. Competence and power. Brick is absolutely _devastating_ in her element, fighting against the Legion assholes out there. Maybe a little bit of hero worship worked in. And Kimba can’t help responding to that.

It gives her plenty to think about as Brick reports to Donovan, showing him the crude map they found on the corpse, as well as the assorted gear they looted. Donovan is quite predictably excited, and starts interrogating Brick on tactics, ranks, anything that she might have noted of interest. Kimba just listens nervously, unsure if she is expected to contribute. That uncertainty is soon clarified as Donovan turns the brunt of his questioning on her.

“So you’re sure you got them all? Anything different from what Brick reported? How did their armor hold up against your weapons?” he asks, rapid-fire and brows furrowing.

“Yes, no, and uh, not very well?” Kimba offers lamely, giving an awkward shrug.

“I already gave you the deets, Donnie. You think I was holding out on you, my man?” Brick chimes in, rolling her eyes.

Donovan just chuckles at her response. “Not at all. Just sometimes you let your enthusiasm get in the way of your eyes. But we should really bring this info back to Reilly. Just give me…” His lips purse as he examines the remaining robots, including one already functional Sentry Bot and a hovering Mister Gutsy. “Give me about an hour and I’ll get the last two bots assembled. I’ll need a hand though, and the other one of you should keep watch outside. Just in case.”

There is no hesitation as Brick announces “Kimba will stay with you, then. Me and Eugene will keep watch.”

“Eugene and _I_ ,” Donovan mutters to his teammate’s retreating back. “Come on then, Kimba.”

Kimba does not know very much about electronics and repair, but it’s easy enough to follow the Ranger’s instructions, especially as he needs another pair of hands more than any true technical skill. At the end of the hour, they have two more Sentry bots ready to go, and Donovan has bundled the rest of the ‘useful’ parts for travel.

Brick is drumming her fingers idly against the handle of her minigun when they emerge, and flashes a downright lethal smile at the sight of Donovan’s robotic entourage. “Those right there could take out a squad of the skirt-men,” she says approvingly. Donovan chuckles slightly, his usual annoyance with Brick smoothed over by his pride in his own work.

While the bots slow their progress back to Big Town, Kimba considers that more than a fair trade-off for the sense of security they provide. The robots make sneaking around difficult anyway, so they don’t even bother trying to keep a low profile on the return trip. This makes Brick happy, at least; while she does not exactly skip like a small child, she does hum cheekily as they walk.

Kimba finds it endearing, and wonders again at her change of heart. Perhaps she should give Brick a chance after all…

That hope immediately runs down her throat and explodes in the pit of her stomach as Brick casually asks “So… is Bittercup just into dicks, or does she like ladies as well?”

Donovan groans loudly, smacking the palm of his hand against his forehead. “ _Really_ , Brick? You are about to ask the girl you _failed to hit on_ about another girl? Were you dropped on your _head_ as a child?”

“Possibly,” Kimba says icily, willing her features to stillness as she picks up her pace. She walks side by side with Donovan now, rather than trailing with Brick.

Brick immediately jogs to catch up, oblivious to the arctic chill in Kimba’s wake. “So possibly means she possibly likes girls, or I was possibly dropped on my head? Clarity is important here!”

“Yes.”

Donovan coughs discreetly. “Kimba means yes to both questions, idiot.”

“Well, good to know!” Brick exclaims, the hostility from both teammates washing over her like water off a Mirelurk’s shell. Humming again, she kicks at a small rock, sending it skittering down a hill as she drops back once more.

Turning her head to Donovan, Kimba twists her palms face-up with an exaggerated shrug of bewilderment, mouthing ‘ _Is she REALLY that stupid_?’

Unfortunately, Donovan’s response is a stoic nod and an equally silent ‘ _Yes, yes she is.’_

Joining Reilly’s Rangers is distinctly less appealing by the minute.


	6. Seizing

Logically, Kimba _knows_ she really has no right to be mad at Brick. She already refused Brick once, after all, and it’s not like they have any sort of claim on each other. Still, watching Bittercup hang onto the mercenary’s every word and feel her muscles, coo into her ear, and shamelessly flirt...

Well, it hurts.

They already turned in their findings to Reilly, and the Ranger’s leader has agreed to leave one of the Sentry bots stationed with Big Town for additional protection. The other robots will be allocated at Reilly and the Wanderer’s discretion, wherever they think they will need a little extra firepower. Now, they are all just having dinner to celebrate a successful mission, and in a few days the Rangers will be leaving again…

And Kimba has already decided she won’t be going with them.

Her vision abruptly goes soft and blurry, and she awkwardly wipes the tears away on the back of her sleeve before she even realizes she was crying. Embarrassed, she ducks behind one of the houses to sit down and hide. With her eyes squeezed shut, she hears rather than sees the person sit down beside her, and a gentle voice asking “Kimba, what’s wrong?”

Blinking her eyes open, she sees Red’s familiar worried expression, and feels a momentary pang of guilt for worrying her friend. Immediately, she starts waving her concerns away, forcing a brittle smile to her face. “Not much, really.” The words sound hollow even to her.

“Come on, talk to me,” the medic says coaxingly, reaching out to hold Kimba’s hand. The friendly gesture only reminds her of how badly her ‘romance’ with Brick died before it even had a chance to sprout, and how unrelentingly straight her best friend is, and before she knows it Kimba is bawling all over again. Red just squeezes her hand, using her other arm to pull her in closer. “Shush, shush. Let it all out, honey.”

Best friend that she is, Red lets Kimba bawl it all out onto her shoulder, stroking her hair soothingly and just rocking back and forth. Only once the tears are over and Kimba is hiccupping softly does Red ask “What’s bothering you?”

Kimba pushes away from Red, wiping her nose and ashamed of dripping snot all over the other woman. Bursting into tears like this is completely unlike her, though she bleakly realizes it might not seem that way based on the past few weeks. “Brick,” she manages to squeak out, her voice whiny and tremulous to her own ears.

Red’s eyes darken, and the full curve of her lips tighten angrily. “I’ll have a word with Reilly then.”

“No, it’s not… Brick’s being good. It’s just… I mean, I turned her down when she first tried flirting with me. But after being around her a bit more, seeing more of her…” Kimba forces herself to look off in the distance, not staring at Red who likely thinks she is an idiot. She is a grown woman, she can shoot slavers with the best of them, and now she is acting like a child over another girl. Even young MacCready would know better than that. It is a silly, self-indulgent weakness, and Kimba hates herself for it. “It hurts to see her trying to get it on with Bittercup.”

“Have you spoken with Brick about this?” Red asks. It is the most logical and rational action, yes, but that would mean _confronting_ Brick, and Kimba shakes her head. It’s always been easier to let someone else make the decisions, the first moves, and just follow along and support whatever happens. The last time she had tried to be the first to approach… well, at least she still has a best friend for it, if not a girlfriend.

Red, ever empathetic, seems to read Kimba’s unspoken fear, and sighs softly. “Kimba… no one can promise anything out here in the Wasteland, but maybe… you can chase your own dreams. You don’t have to keep chaining yourself in place and wonder what could be.”

That causes another prickle of tears, but her eyes are too dry to do more than prickle. Kimba gives a shaky laugh, wondering if Reilly had already spoke with Red about the job offer. “You know, Donovan was saying… after this mess with the Legion clears up, they might have an opening with the Rangers for a sniper. But I don’t think I could leave Big Town.”

“Why not?” For a brief moment, Red’s question is disconcertingly like Donovan’s—quiet curiosity, just trying to see what makes her tick. At least their gestures are different, Red’s casual wipe of her glasses enough of a contrast from Donovan’s carefully held-together coolness that it does not trigger full on déjà vu for Kimba.

“Well… we still need every gun we can get,” Kimba starts, already realizing how weak and vaguely egotistical that statement sounds. She quickly attempts to rally. “Plus, we need to… to help train any new Little Lamplight kids that come in. So we’ll need people for that.”

Red just smiles, teeth flashing before vanishing like the moon behind a cloud. “What about what _you_ want, not just what you think is good for Big Town?”

“I would… miss everyone here. I’ve never been around people I haven’t known since we were kids together,” Kimba admits. “Going into a world full of strangers is a scary thought.”

“Would the Rangers count as strangers?”

Kimba chews that one over, feeling her tears slowly drying on her cheeks. “Not really, I suppose. But I’m afraid of leaving,” she says quietly.

“But without the fear, what do you want?” Red’s voice is almost hypnotic, sweet and low as she rubs Kimba’s shoulder. Soothed by the gentle contact, she closes her eyes.

Inhaling slowly through her nostrils, Kimba reflects. What she wants… are warm, strong arms around her, and a thick, muddy drawl whispering in her ear. She wants to see the Capital Wasteland, to wander as the Wanderer and maybe, in some small way, make her own mark for the better. She feels the smile growing on her face, and when she opens her eyes again, she sees an answering smile on Red’s face.

“I want to join the Rangers. And… if Brick and Bittercup aren’t already making out somewhere, I’m going to let her know I want her too.”

Red laughs happily, standing up and pulling Kimba with her. She wets a handkerchief with a little bit of clean water, dabbing at Kimba’s tear-streaked face. “There. Pretty as a picture, now. Why don’t you go let her know?”

Warm and flush with Red’s loyal support, she strides back to the center of the town. Bittercup and Brick are still talking, but Kimba quickly realizes that Brick is anxious to escape the conversation—while Bittercup is babbling blithely about death, the Wasteland, the moon on her skin, anything and everything that crosses her mind, Brick has angled her knees away from the death-obsessed girl and is leaning away. Whenever Bittercup asks a question, she makes a vague, non-committal grunt, her eyes scanning for anyone nearby. When Kimba and Brick’s eyes meet, Brick’s mouth drops slightly, and she flushes.

Rather than let Brick wrong-foot herself again, Kimba slides into the conversation. She has learned with Bittercup it is better to make your own entry, rather than wait for a pause in the other woman’s monologue. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need to borrow Brick for a bit.”

Without waiting for Bittercup’s response, Brick rockets to her feet and mouths _‘thank you!’_ with a look of such gratitude that it warms Kimba’s belly, coursing through her like a shot of good whiskey. Feeling a little dizzy with her own boldness—also much like the whiskey, come to think of it—she pulls Brick to the back of the Town, in one of the quiet places by the reinforced wall. Dimly, she realizes they are near the little improvised shooting range where Brick first embarrassed her so.

“I thought about what you said, earlier,” she says thickly, her head fizzing with excitement and anxiety. If Brick is still interested, if Brick might want more than just two bodies fumbling at one another in the dark... so many ‘ifs,’ but she will never know unless she makes a move. “About joining the Rangers, I mean. I… I want to. I already told Red, I haven’t talked with Reilly yet, but I figured you should be one of the first to know. If it’s still open, I mean.”

Brick exhales in a big ‘whoosh,’ shoulders slumping with… relief? Disappointment? But she cracks a smile, pumping one fist into the air with a holler that makes Kimba cringe back at its sheer volume. “ _Yee_ -ha! Glad to know! Reilly will be happy, and… I mean, it’s not going to be right away. We gotta talk with the Wanderer and get a couple things lined up, but if we are going to the front lines—hopefully Legion won’t even make it this far east—then we might pick you up ‘afore this little war’s true and properly over. I mean…” The words are pouring out, bubbling like old world champagne from a bottle, and Kimba can’t help laughing at Brick’s enthusiasm.

“There’s something else I decided, but I need to hear something from you first,” Kimba cuts in, eager to head off the fountain of words before Brick manages to stick her foot in her mouth again. “I… I saw things with Bittercup weren’t going too hot. Would you…” And now it is her turn to feel awkward, the words tickling the back of her throat as she forces them out, almost too rapid to properly control. “I thought about what you said, about dreams. And I don’t want to just settle for being some hero’s one-night stand. If you… if you want more, then maybe we could…”

“Aw, hell baby,” Brick whispers, voice warm and husky as she grips Kimba’s hands between her own. Kimba feels her heart fluttering from the simple touch, too light to be demanding but too firm to be anything else but desire. “I always wanted you, first time I saw you standing there like a Wasteland dream. A girl like you deserves nothing but the best, and the ‘best’ isn’t just saying goodbye in the morning.”

There seems little room for talking after that, and any more words will just get in the way. Words are vulnerability, another chance to lie or say the wrong thing, when they both feel _exactly_ what they want tingling through their clasped fingers like electricity, coursing up and down their bodies.

Brick’s mouth is warm and soft, even despite her chapped lips and the faint taste of smoke and meat. Kimba’s tongue probes hungrily, and is met by Brick’s own. Gently—so gently that at first she does not realize she’s even being moved—Brick presses her back against the house, the rough wall scraping against her shirt and causing her to groan. Brick immediately lessens the pressure, thinking it’s pain, and lowers her mouth to the nape of her neck. Kimba tilts her head to allow easier access, tracing her fingers through Brick’s short hair and letting the stiff bristles tickle the palm of her hand.

“You taste like smoke and nectar and all the best things,” Brick murmurs, the heat of her breath against her neck causing Kimba to moan. Her exotic drawl coats each word, and Kimba thinks that maybe, just maybe, Brick knows how to say the right things sometimes…

Kimba raises her arm, wrapping it around the back of Brick’s shoulders and pulling her closer, guiding her lips to the spots that feel best when kissed and licked. Brick adds small nibbles, barely more than the lightest graze of her teeth on Kimba’s flesh, and Kimba whispers “Harder,” trying her very best to remember even in this haze of lust and warmth that she needs to _seize_ what she wants, instead of just laying back and hoping for things to work out.

Brick’s next nip is sharper, almost painful, but it blossoms into something wonderful as her hands work their way down, massaging Kimba’s arms, then kneading over the softness of her breasts. Kimba moans, showering kisses on the top of Brick’s head and giggling softly as her hair tickles her nostrils.

“Baby, we’re gonna… I don’t know how far you want to go tonight, but I _love_ feeling you like this,” Brick whispers raggedly, raising her head to kiss Kimba full on the lips. Sweet smoke and whiskey flavors linger for both of them when Kimba withdraws to give her response.

“I don’t want to get naked. Not tonight,” she admits, abruptly shy. “But making out… we can still feel each other through the clothes. I just want to take it a little slower.”

“Absolutely fine by me,” Brick breathes, leaning in to kiss her again. Pressing her against the wall, they take the time to explore eachother, thigh to thigh and gently (and not so gently) feeling eachother. They are a messy tangle of limbs, Brick supporting Kimba against the wall as they make out heatedly. It is all so new, so wonderful and different that Kimba can't help crying softly as her nails dig into the back of Brick's neck, leaving red crescents. Brick grunts, but does not otherwise complain, instead kissing the line of her jaw and flicking a tongue over her earlobe.

“You’re a firecracker, Kimba. I know not tonight, but I’d _love_ to get you alone in a nice quiet room where we can just scream and carry on,” she whispers, finishing with another kiss on Kimba’s nose.

Kimba nods agreement, legs wobbly as she leans on Brick for support. They sleep in the common room, sharing the same mattress—though if anyone looks at them funny, Kimba just ignores them, too caught up in her new-found happiness to care.

Some dreams are worth chasing, she thinks to herself, spooned against Brick. Brick snores—a minor flaw, but one she is willing to overlook—and wraps an arm over Kimba in her sleep. And this was one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Less filthy than the version originally written for the meme, but I felt this worked better.


End file.
